The Pianist

Her fingers glide across keys, reminding you what it might have been to love.

she pulls at the strings

of violence and remorse,

painting with colors of

enthusiasm, in your mind.

the sorrow you feel

is a small reminder

of how you are still alive.

she dances around with

vivid memories and dreams,

the corners of her mouth tugging,

tugging upward ever so slightly.

Author's Note

(I'm not a fan of capital letters in poetry, I think it makes it too sharp. So please, I know it's not capitalized.)